


left hand upon a mirror

by Yuesya



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Cannibalism, F/M, Gen, Ghoul!OC, I'll add more tags as they come up, Mental Instability, This is Tokyo ghoul we're talking about here, Violence/Gore, pre!canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 04:58:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5730343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuesya/pseuds/Yuesya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of losing and rediscovering that which others call humanity. (… Or perhaps it's the other way around?) [SI/OC, ghoul!OC, pre-canon]</p>
            </blockquote>





	left hand upon a mirror

.

_"She opens her eyes, and it's morning. Early sunlight filters in brightly through the tall looking-glass windows, announcing the arrival of a new day –a new day full of new adventures and new possibilities. The radiant sunlight calls to her, cheerful and beckoning._

_'Get up, get up! It's morning,' the resplendent sunlight laughs gaily."_

_…_

_… It's morning, yet what unravels in front of her eyes is nothing but a nightmare. The crux of the question is: is she still dreaming, or perchance is she finally now awake?_

.

.

Summer is the maddest time of the year, all scorching sun and simmering heat casting self-reflective mirages into the glassy ground of ink-black asphalt streets. It is the moment when thousands of flowers burst into full bloom; small golden daisies and slender coral dahlias boldly splaying out loud colors across thin petals in a raucous cacophony of noise that very nearly succeeds in drowning out the heavy, rotting sweetness that lurks behind their deceptive cores. The saccharine scent hidden in twisting vines is choking when the wind blows, when tooth-decaying sweetness is carried from street to garden to right in front of the doorstep.

Scorch-hazes and illusions and flowers and madness.

… Ito sits very, very still in her limp position sprawled across the open windowsill as the warm summer breeze from outside enters and wafts over her, currently busy trying to determine whether or not she is truly insane.

Coltish legs drawn up to chest level, pale fingers curled over each other, pink lips parted lightly in even puffs of soft breathing –outwardly, there is absolutely nothing to suggest that there is anything wrong whatsoever with five year-old little Mochizuki Ito, the youngest daughter of Mochizuki Yasu and Fujimoto Masuyo. Of course, inwardly, it is a different matter altogether.

Certainly, there is no doubt that the tiny little girl perched on the cushion here is Ito. The problem, she surmises quietly to herself. The problem is that while she is Ito, she is also something _else,_ too –something else that had died in fading summer as the late rhododendron blooms cycled blood back into the black earth. But before that something else died, it had been _alive,_ and that's what Ito is right now. Alive.

It's… disconcerting. Jarring, to say the least, and Ito curls in on herself even more, in an attempt to gather and properly organize her thoughts to make some semblance of her situation. It's not much when saying this in context of a five year-old, but Ito _isn't_ a simple five year old –at least, not mentally, even if she is in body. And while Ito has always been aware that she is _different_ from her older sister in thoughts and actions and mannerisms, it hasn't occurred to her that this difference stems from unconscious awareness of another lifetime. Not until today, when something inside her clicks and she _remembers,_ and…

And it's not like she and _that woman_ are separate entities, not exactly, because they're _not._ Separate, that is. If Ito's body is physically born from Mochizuki Yasu and Fujimoto Masuyo, then her mind and spirit are the mental result of small fragments of these memories from another lifetime broken and melded together once again.

Similar, but different.

Different, but also the same.

… Thinking about it like this gives her a grand headache, like she is spinning in circles and getting absolutely nowhere. Like shriveled flowers wilting up even further under the sun's glare. Useless.

Or is it?

Because although the revelation itself is startling, scattered pieces of a puzzle finally falling into place again as she struggles to adjust her worldview to match, she is still Ito. She is still Ito, the very same little Mochizuki Ito who has lived in this middle-class two-story house for the past five years with her two parents and older sister. The realization of remembering a past lifetime, of being reborn, _reincarnated,_ it… it shouldn't mean anything different; it's not as if she's somehow magically not-Ito anymore. She _is_ Ito, just…

…

… just, she is still Ito, and something more, too. But still Ito in the end, when everything is all said and done. At the end of the day, she is still just Mochizuki Ito.

Does this make any sense?

_Kind of, not really, maybe._

… But Ito supposes that she can live with this sort of answer, because she doubts that she can get much clearer than that; moreover, there is no need to clarify something like this. She's not even sure if it's possible to in the first place.

.

.

It's a heat-haze, a mirage, an illusion.

(Except, it's not. It's really not.)

There are days when Ito still wakes up thinking that she's living in her ratty, run-down flat with a broken coffee machine and a constantly malfunctioning rice cooker, and it's time to get up and go to work again. So it's startling to open her eyes instead to a smooth, cream-colored ceiling rather than dilapidated, whitewashed walls that are probably in need of a new paint job sometime soon. She's generally getting better at it nowadays, at separating the differences between memories and reality, but sometimes it's still disconcerting.

Particularly when she is still feeling half-asleep.

"Morning, sweetheart." A warm, calloused hand lands on top of her head, ruffling her hair. Ito automatically scrunches up her eyes, giving in to the instincts of her five year old body and the desire to snuggle down in her blankets where it's still _warm._ "C'mon, up you get. Today is a big day –you're finally going to start taking lessons with other children like your sister. Aren't you excited to be going out of the house more? Ito is a big girl now."

"… Morning, Papa," she yawns, blinking blearily. "… Five more minutes?"

(Ito has never been much of a morning person.)

The man towering above her laughs gently, russet hair gleaming like fire under the small strands of sunlight slipping in through the window drapes. "I'm afraid not, sweetheart. C'mon now, hurry up. Don't be late."

Ito buries herself under the soft blankets of her bed for just a moment longer before she finally musters up enough motivation to rouse herself from the warm pile. It's not as if she's reluctant at the prospect of going outside –although the Mochizuki family keeps to itself and prefers staying indoors most of the time, Ito still genuinely enjoys the few times that the family _does_ go outdoors together in the evenings to take a brief stroll in the flower garden park across the street. Perhaps the only oddity she would note about those trips is that her parents never encourage her to go play with the other children frolicking in the park, but maybe that is just some cultural quirk that she has yet to fully familiarize herself with in this new world that she has been reborn into.

When Ito pads into the bathroom at the end of the hall with small shuffling steps, pulling out a small stool to reach the sink, she sees on the counter that the pink toothbrush standing next to hers is already wet. If she stands still and pricks up her ears, it's easy enough to hear the sound of small footsteps running down the staircase –no doubt her older sister has just finished washing up and is going downstairs for breakfast right now. Mochizuki Sena is every bit the morning person that Ito herself is not and will never be; the very thought of waking up all sprightly and cheerful in the wee hours of the morning is enough to give her _hives._

Ito suppresses a shudder at the horrifying thought before turning on the tap water in the sink and bending over to wash her face. A few strands of stray black hair fall down from behind her ear at the movement, but she ignores it. Brushing it back would only mean getting more of her hair wet at this point.

"Ito! Hurry up, dear!"

"Coming, Mama!" she reaches for her toothbrush, looking into the mirror. Ito's face is round the way all young children's faces tend to be, framed by the still-messy locks of inky hair falling down her shoulders. 'Bed-head' would be the best term for it, probably.

… It helps, looking into the mirror like this. It helps to cement her in time.

Because sometimes, when Ito looks into the mirror she still expects to see the visage of a young woman in her early twenties staring back at her, chestnut-haired rather than raven, sea-green eyes instead of smoky gray. Ito's looks take after her mother more than they do her father; so does her sister, for all that the older girl has their father's clear hazel eyes instead of their mother's gray. Sena also seems to have inherited their father's taller height. Nine years old, and the girl already towers above any nine year old Ito ever remembers having seen –although, who's to say anything for certain once puberty kicks in?

(Ito remembers what it's like to be short, and she would greatly appreciate having a few extra inches of height once she hits her growth spurt this time around, thank you very much. Her fingers are crossed for that. Double-crossed.)

She carefully dries her hands on a fluffy towel before exiting the bathroom and slipping down the stairs. Sometimes her father likes to read the morning papers next to the window, but the couch in the living room is empty today.

… Then again, it's a cloudy day today, so there's not much sunlight to be seen by the windows, anyways. Either that, or it's really, _really_ early in the morning, and this would be a good moment to wallow in despair at being the one person who likes to sleep in until the sun actually _rises_ in a family full of early morning people.

Ito pads silently across the room to reach the kitchen, where she can hear the rest of her family's voices.

"–pick you up in the afternoon. I know you're in different groups, but try to keep an eye out for Ito if you can, alright?" There is the small clattering sound of silverware being set down on the table in the brief pause following her father's words. "… It can be a hard adjustment, if it turns out that she isn't–"

"You're such a worrywart, Papa!" In sharp contrast to Papa, who has a mild voice and is soft-spoken most of the time, her older sister is much more boisterous and exuberant. "I was fine on my first day, wasn't I? Ito will be fine, too."

A tired sigh. Ito enters the kitchen area just in time to see her father reach over and pat her sister on the cheek. "Well, I'll certainly be hoping for the best."

"Finally down, Ito?" A different voice. The little girl blinks as her mother swoops in from behind, giving her a light one-armed hug. "Go eat breakfast now. Today is a big day, and you'll want to have all of your energy for it."

"… Morning, Mama."

The hug squeezes tighter for a moment around her shoulders, and Ito gives another slow blink –this time one of vague disconcertion and slight concern– before her mother quickly straightens and moves away, giving her a small push on the back towards the dining table.

"Eat up, Ito. You're going to need it today."

The woman turns away with that last parting remark, a curtain of silken hair sliding over her shoulders not unlike an ebon-black waterfall as she returns to busy herself in the kitchen. Slightly perturbed, Ito stands still for a moment on the kitchen tiles before heading for the table where her father and her sister are sitting at. There is nothing _wrong_ with her mother's actions, not exactly; Fujimoto Masuyo isn't so much out of character as she is… uncharacteristically touchy. Well.

… It's slight, something easy to dismiss and overlook, and maybe she's combing for ghosts in corners where there are none –but for a moment, Ito _wonders._

"Ready for your big day?" her thoughts are interrupted by her father, who gives her a soft smile as she clambers onto her chair quietly, pushing over a plate of food in front of her eat. "Eat. Gotta keep your energy up today, alright? Papa knows you will do well."

"Yes, Papa." Starting school seems to be much more important of an occasion here that she recalls it being the first time around in that other lifetime that no longer exists. Ito thanks her sister when the older girl hands her a fork and a knife with a faint smile as she turns to her food.

… It had been strange, in the beginning. Ito had never before considered that people could subsist on an entirely carnivorous diet, but apparently that was the way of things in this world. Initially, she had held her apprehensions about eating meat all the time, day in and day out –back when her memories had bled over much more frequently in short bursts and muddled up her mind all the time, she had once asked her mother why they never ate vegetables, only to be met with a funny look and a, "You're too young to be asking about such things, Ito. Where did you even hear about vegetables?"

(Luckily, there had been plenty of picture books stacked onto the colorful bookshelves. Ito had managed to find a simple one filled with images of fruits and vegetables to present to her mother's unusually stern questioning.

… She never found the book again after that. Who knew that vegetables were apparently taboo in this household?)

Eventually, Ito manages to rationalize it to herself as a strange quirk of this new world, because she _remembers_ learning that human bodies need to meet all sorts of different nutritional requirements each day in order to stay healthy. Eating nothing but sanguine red meat on a weekly basis certainly isn't very much variety or even very frequent dining, really. But the taste itself varies between different meats –some are sweet, others salty; some firm, others tender, which she supposes is a form of variety in and of itself that provides proper nutrition. There are certain flavors to the exquisite meats that she can't quite put into words as well, as if there are no existing words within her (admittedly expansive, for obvious reasons that would send her straight to an asylum if she ever voiced them aloud) vocabulary that are actually fit to describe such tastes. Hunger is a sensation that she has almost forgotten by now, too, for all that her meals are taken only once a week.

And… even though she isn't used to it in the beginning, this practice of eating cutlets of fleshy meat often still dripping with blood, she adjusts. Adapts. The Japanese culture that she remembers having encountered once upon a time had certainly been fine with eating raw fish, hadn't they? Besides, her body is still as healthy as that of any five year old –there is strength in her limbs and she is more nimble and quick than she ever recalls being at any point in her life before; her eyesight is sharp, and sometimes when she concentrates in her room, she can hear what is happening all the way on the other end of the house. Ito remembers the theory, of bodies decaying in ability as they grow, and so she supposes that the memory of this full awareness in her meager five years of age is something that she will always cherish after she grows up again.

Might as well enjoy it while she is still able to.

Ito looks down at the fleshy red meat set out before her. There are three thin slices arranged neatly on the plate, which is one slice more than the portion she usually receives. Looks like her parents are serious about wanting her to 'keep up her energy' for school today.

(… For all that Ito had once been a grown woman who cooked and prepared her own food, she actually always has trouble identifying which portions of the body that her meats nowadays come from. Although, she supposes that this might speak more to her culinary skills than anything else –or rather, her lack thereof.)

Ito inhales. The fresh meat on her plate is tangy and a little sweet to her senses, an interesting amalgamation that reminds her of innocence and laughter under the dappled shade of a tall oak tree in the madness of midsummer, strange as it sounds –but nonetheless ever so _appetizing._

Salivating slightly from the mouthwatering scent, Ito picks up the fork and knife next to her hands.

"Itadakimasu."

.

.

School is a place of education, a place where children gather to mingle and socialize as they learn.

Ito remembers being an educated woman in her past life, and she can honestly say that college was a total nightmare –even with financial aid, she had been struggling to pay off her college debts years and _years_ after graduation… Actually, had she ever finished paying off her debts before her untimely demise?

No, wait, she's getting off track here.

The _point_ of this being: schools generally emphasize learning. Classrooms usually have desks and books and libraries, and a part of Ito had genuinely been looking forward to finally explore this new world that she has been reborn into, to compare the intellectual differences between this world that she now stands in and the other world entrenched deep into her memories.

This, though?

Definitely not what she had been expecting.

Ito warily eyes the… building. Bluntly put, it looks more like an abandoned warehouse hidden on the outskirts of some shady part of the big city than any proper institution for learning. She hadn't thought that her family had any financial troubles –it certainly didn't _seem_ that way, not with how the house was furnished and with how Papa–

"What's with that skeptical look, sweetheart?" her father laughs, lightly tousling her hair again like he had while calling her up from bed earlier this morning. ( _Morning,_ pah –for all that it's supposed to be summer, a season known for its _warmth,_ the skies are still dark and it's pretty darn cold outside. The sun isn't even up yet, for crying out loud!) "Now, now, don't be like that. This is _important,_ alright? Just… do your best, darling. Remember, Papa believes in you."

A thread of apprehension in his voice. Faint, subtle, but definitely present.

"… You sound worried, Papa."

The fire-haired man doesn't wince, but it's a close thing. Ito frowns at the reaction, but her older sister, _aneki,_ laughs.

"Stop worrying, Papa! Imouto will be fine," the tall raven-haired girl grins. "I mean, look at me! I did just fine, didn't I? Mou, I'm going to start being jealous if you worry so much over imouto like this."

"Sorry, Sena," their father sighs. "It's just… you were seven, almost eight when you took the test; Ito is just barely five. She's the youngest of the group this time…"

… Test?

Her father doesn't seem to notice Ito's mounting mixture of confusion and concern. Test? What's wrong with just a test? (Papa, what kind of crazy school are you trying to send me off to?) "I know that there are other five year olds who have taken this test before, and some of them pass, but… for the record, I still worry."

… That does not sound good. Even though Ito is still little better than clueless about what she is supposed to expect at this point, she doesn't–

Ito blinks in surprise when her father suddenly swoops down and _hugs_ her. There is a trickle of something in her father's embrace that she had felt when her mother had hugged her earlier in the kitchen –something that Ito can't quite put her finger on, but nonetheless still–

"Papa…?"

"Ito. _Ito."_

…

… Ito can say with full honesty that her current status is 'very confused' instead of simply 'slightly confused' as she trails her older sister into the suspicious warehouse-school. 'Very concerned,' too, for good measure.

"Aneki?" she tries. "Aneki, what kind of test were you and Papa talking about just now?"

"Oh, it's nothing you need to worry about," the older girl responds breezily, which does not reassure Ito in the least. Especially since she knows that Sena has a habit of downplaying things all. The. _Time._ "It's more of an assessment than any actual test, really. There's nothing you can do to prepare for it or anything. If you pass, then you pass. Simple. End of story."

Actually, Ito is convinced that there is a lot more to the story that her sister is purposely leaving out, just like how their father had firmly refused to reveal any details of this nerve-wracking 'test,' which was sounding more and more insidious with each passing moment… Was their family in debt or something? Was she being sold to some unsavory _gang?_ Really, what kind of self-respecting school establishes itself in a shady warehouse like this?!

"Calm down, imouto," Sena smiles. "Your heartbeat is getting faster."

Easy for you to say, Ito thinks. _You're_ not the one worrying about some selective test to be admitted into a warehouse-school. Actually, wouldn't it be okay to fail on purpose? Because she _really_ doesn't think that–

"Ah, look. Most of everyone else is here already."

… Children.

There are crates and boxes stacked high in the warehouse, giving it an almost maze-like structure. But the middle of the dark room is completely empty. A clearing. The ground beneath their feet is tightly packed with loose pits of sand and gravel scattered across, and complete with the addition of steel beams in the darkness overhead, Ito reaffirms her earlier thought of this being some shady drug dealer's meeting place rather than any legitimate learning institution. Honestly, what kind of decent school looks like the gathering place for a street gang?

"I'm going to leave you here, okay?" Sena pats her shoulder, hazel eyes bright even in the murky shadows splayed across the room. Ito's hand automatically reaches to grab her sister's fingers, but the older girl smiles and moves away. "My group is over that way, but the test is in the center here. Good luck! Although, I'm sure you won't need it."

Trepidation and apprehension drumming out a staccato beat inside her chest, Ito stares after the leaving girl for a moment before nervously turning and quietly approaching the center, however reluctant she feels about this all –though she is sensible enough to not let the emotion show on her face.

Maybe she is just thinking too much about this? Maybe something like this is perfectly normal in this world?

There are currently seven children gathered in the middle of the ring formed by tall sheets of plywood and sealed iron boxes. With Ito's addition to the group, that makes eight. Most of them seem to be older than her by a good year or two.

A few of the children look up at Ito's approach.

"Hello," one of the boys –auburn-haired and golden-eyed– smiles at her. Ito has him automatically pegged as a leader-type. Not only does that welcoming smile on his face seem perfectly natural, the other children have automatically turned to flank his sides as she came closer, which means that even if subconsciously, some part of them willingly defers to this child. This boy. "You're the second-to-last of our testing group today, I think. I'm Mochizuki Susumu."

"… Hello." It would be very impolite to remain silent and not give any response. Although, there is a slight startle in her chest at hearing the boy share the same surname as her. What were the chances of that happening randomly? "… My name is Mochizuki Ito. Nice to meet you."

One by one, the other children step forward and give their names as well, and as it turns out, the chances aren't random at all. Ito's sinking suspicion is confirmed when it turns out that four of these six other children all share the name 'Mochizuki.'

… Oh god, maybe she had been reborn into some sort of underworld criminal empire family? _This is so not cool._

"Ne," Ito tries to cover up her discomfort by making small talk. "W-What do you think the test will be?"

The boy –Susumu– blinks at her. "Didn't anyone tell you? We're not allowed to know what the test is about, so we can't prepare for it ahead of time. It's tradition, y'know?"

The way the boy pronounces 'tradition' sounds like it's some complex word that he has forcibly memorized from his parents or from a particularly respected older peer. His answer at least sheds some light on a lot of the puzzling behavior she has seen from her father lately, though.

_… Still. 'Tradition?' That doesn't really explain much._

Before Ito has a chance to ask anything else, however, there is a new voice that sounds behind them –a low masculine voice that is practically overflowing with the brass rumble of authority in each note.

"Not very many brats in this bunch, I see. Good. That means the test shouldn't take too long this time."

It's a giant.

… No, really. It's a giant.

Ito feels her eyes widening involuntarily as she takes in the sight of the new arrival –a man, either in his late thirties or early forties, whose bulging muscles sculpt his body into a tall giant cutting an intimidating figure, particularly in the dim lighting of the warehouse. And his eyes –his _eyes_ … they're inhumanly _black._ The sclera of his eyes are completely pitch-black, but his irises are a bright, vivid red, _glowing_ in the darkness. Even though he is not doing anything but simply _standing_ there, Ito still feels an almost-unbearable pressure crushing down upon her in that moment, a sort of suffocating sensation that has her in a dire chokehold.

Oh gods, the dark-haired man isn't doing anything but _looking_ at them.

"Mm… four out of eight. Not bad," the man mumbles to himself in a low mutter, looking away, and suddenly it's easy to breathe again. Ito instinctively sucks in a deep breath, and she is not the only one of the cowed children to do so. In the aftermath of the scary man's glare, it almost feels like her own eyes are burning, too. "Follow me."

When the man turns on his heel to walk into the very center of the small clearing, where there is a single, soft ray of light that shines down from a broken crack in the ceiling of the warehouse, all of the children hastily scramble to follow. Some are slightly dazed, slightly fearful like Ito herself is, but when she looks to Susumu, Ito feels a part of herself instinctively flinch and recoil.

The scarlet-haired boy's eyes are black and red and _shining._

"Your test is simple," the burlesque man says, as his strides come to an abrupt stop –right in front of a large, tattered box. "Up until this point, your parents have always taken care of your every need. Today, you are going to learn firsthand how to procure your own food."

… Ito feels like tripping over her own two feet.

 _This_ is the test that Papa had been so wound up over? This… this… something like this is just… just…

Ito isn't sure what expression she has on her face, but she is pretty sure that it's similar to what the majority of the other children have, because the confusion of complete 'what the hell' is practically tangible and all-but literally _visible_ in the air. The muscled man snorts, a bare hint of derision evident in his tone, which swiftly snaps them out of their funk.

"Trust me, you'll have a _lot_ more appreciation for what your parents have to go through after today."

… Just, what?

Ito frowns. She has a feeling that she is missing something, that there is something critical about the man's words that are going completely over her head, and… she doesn't like the feeling of being kept in the dark like this.

'Procuring food?'

Well… _meat._ Her parents have always given her raw meat. Did that mean that the man planned to make them set traps to catch animals or something? In a _warehouse?_ … Catching cockroaches sounded more like it. Who asked children to kill animals, anyways? Maybe he just wanted them to cut meat into thin slices like Mama did? That was still… maybe not necessarily _sickening,_ but definitely disturbing to ask of young children.

"Excuse me, sir." Susumu's voice is steady and polite when he speaks up, in a way that instinctively draws the attention of an entire room. "Is it really okay to just start the test like this? We're still missing a person here."

For a moment, the man squints at the little boy who dares to speak up to him like this. Susumu, who stares back unflinchingly. Then the giant's expression clears.

"Ah, you're Katsurou's brat. Friends with… Kaede or something like that, right?"

"Yes."

The man shrugs carelessly, and there is something very cold and callous bleeding into his large frame that has Ito's blood running cold before he even speaks again. "Yeah, he won't be coming. Kid was killed with his parents yesterday when they got careless while hunting."

_… What?_

_Wait, repeat that for me, please._

_'Killed?'_

Killed. Killed while hunting? As in, honest to goodness _hunting_ for food, in the middle of a city like this?

_You have got to be joking._

"You're lying! Kaede… Kaede promised that he'd take the test with me today! He's not dead!" Shock, disbelief, anger. All of his previous calm has disappeared –right now Susumu is a child full of denial and helpless rage, targeted towards the only person he knows to deliver these negative emotions to: the person who gave him these earth-shattering news in the first place.

On second thought, what kind of responsible adult just… straight out told a little kid that his friend had died in a gruesome accident like that with his family? What kind of _self-respecting_ adult did that? What–

SLAP.

Ito flinches, instinctively shying back at the loud smack of palm meeting flesh; the blow to the face is harsh enough that it sends Susumu bodily sprawling to the ground in a messy heap, and–

_Oh my god, I think that's blood._

_(… Someone get me out of here, please. Papa, Papa, why in the world did you leave me here?! Aneki, where are you?)_

"Kid, wake up." There is no lenience, no forgiveness in the man's voice, which has now gone dark and cold. "This is reality. Katsurou got careless and made one too many mistakes. He even attracted the Doves to his house because he was stupid enough to keep personal identification on his person while he was hunting."

… Nothing makes sense anymore. _Doves? Personal ID?_ Ito bites her lip and frowns, but there is nothing she can do but continue to listen silently.

(Maybe… maybe hunting is illegal or something, which is why–? But no, _killed._ A boy and his family were all killed because the father got caught when he went hunting. But even if he broke the law and went hunting someplace where it was specifically restricted, the most that would result in should be a fine, or imprisonment at the very worst. The fact that the entire family _died_ for it…

… What the hell are Doves?)

"Listen. If you don't want to die, your first rule is going to be _don't do anything stupid."_ Even though the man's eyes are dark brown and _normal_ now instead of that scary black-glowing-red, there is still a definite chill that runs down Ito's spine as his eyes sweep over her when he turns to the other children aside from the one shivering on the ground right now. "That means you _never._ Bring. Anything. Traceable. With. You. While. Hunting. Understand?"

Silence.

"I SAID, UNDERSTAND?"

"Y-y-yes!" No one had been expecting that sudden roar from the man; even though uneven and stuttering, the children still stutter out their assent to the man's rule. All except Susumu, who remains sullenly silent in defiance and rage –and the man suddenly smiles.

It's not a nice smile.

"… We still have to proceed with the test, don't we?" he says lightly. "Angry brat, you're up first."

Wordlessly, Susumu crawls to his feet again and steps forward, jaws clenched tightly. Ito mentally sends up a quick prayer for the boy's wellbeing to deities that probably don't even exist in the first place, but anything can only be a help at this point.

"What's the test?" there is so much simmering _rage_ underlining the boy's simple words, but if anything, the man's smile only widens upon hearing this.

"Enthusiastic, aren't we?" Without any further ado, the man turns to the box behind him. It is at this point that Ito belatedly notices the holes drilled into the top of the box –and as the man goes about unlocking and opening it, she _hears_ it. Harsh breathing. Soft stutters. The shuffle of push and shoves, skin against skin. Shaky sobs that grow louder and louder and–

It feels like the floor has been torn out from under her feet. No, the entire _world._

Ito _stares._

"This is your test today, brats. These are easy pickings, so go hunt your own meals."

_Children._

… It is a metal box full of crying children.

Something in Ito's mind clicks and breaks, as her mind finally registers the vivid sight of nine sobbing little children in front of her.

_Oh my freaking god._

.

.

Imagine this: time stands still.

No? Can't imagine it? Try this instead:

You're standing here in a dark warehouse, eyes wide open, but everything around you is hazed and muffled and unclear. The voices of children chattering in your immediate vicinity sound like they're coming from somewhere far, far away. You're aware of these incoherent sounds, but it's all you can do to even focus on looking forward, on what is there directly in front of you.

There is ice in your blood.

No, there are shattered fragments of ice in your blood, sharp and poking and tearing at your veins, sending a frigid chill throughout your entire body –and you want to shiver, want to tremble, but you _can't_ because you're frozen. _Frozen._

And then you glance down at your hand and you notice that, oh. Oh, my hand is trembling. How strange. I don't feel like I'm moving. I don't feel like I'm moving at all. I'm supposed to be numb and frozen, aren't I?

Time stands still.

_Time stands still._

This is a moment when time stands still.

… Ito isn't quite sure where she has heard of this saying before, exactly, but at some point she recalls having encountered a piece on the age-long human sport of hunting. It said that the more intelligent, the more powerful, the more challenging the prey, the more rewarding the thrill of the hunt was for the hunter. And what, pray ask, happened to be the most intelligent, most powerful, most challenging prey that mankind can find for himself?

_Humans._

Ito wants to close her eyes.

Ito wants to squeeze shut her eyes, to cover her ears with her hands, to scream and blot out the entire world, to erase everything that is currently happening in this room –but instead, she is frozen. There is a thick sensation clogging up the front of her chest that is a heady mixture of something sickeningly tantalizing and morbidly appetizing that _grips_ tightly onto her heart, that literally _transfixes_ her to the sight of a young scarlet-haired boy striding over to the other boy who had been yanked out from the crate. He just _grabs_ him, before turning and–

It's brutal.

_Brutal._

… There is no other way to describe this.

Susumu literally snatches the other boy by the collar of his clothes and _slams_ the smaller child into the ground. There is a sickening crack of something breaking, and the boy in his grip screams. _Screams._ It is a startled cry of pain that blends together fear and terror and _hurt,_ as sharp as the jagged edges of shattered glass and just as cutting, if not more so. The small child twists and writhes wildly, grabs onto Susumu's wrists, desperately tries to shove away the taller boy on top of him, but it's futile. _Useless._ The taller boy _snarls,_ and it's such a guttural, animalistic sound, and–

Those eyes. Those _eyes._

Black-and-red. Death-and-blood.

_Those are not human eyes._

The small boy lets out a choked cry that is somewhere between shock and horror and sheer desperation, but to no avail. Susumu easily overpowers him again, taking him by the neck and choking him –the two boys roll around in a whirlwind of flying limbs, but Susumu comes out on top, pale hand tightly fisted in the crying boy's hair, whose struggles are growing weaker and weaker–

"Stop it stop it stop it STOP!" the boy screams, and it's such a bone-chilling sound.

Susumu doesn't stop.

He just.

Repeatedly.

Slams.

The boy's face.

Into.

The ground.

And it's.

Mottled yellow and purple and black and then broken skin and tears and–

_Red._

…

… For a moment, she doesn't realize it. Ito doesn't realize why there is absolutely nothing in her that reacts when Susumu leans down on top of the twitching little boy in a way that might even be considered suggestive had they both been a good decade or two older of age, for all that Susumu had been in the midst of physically beating the other boy to death a mere moment ago. It's a movement that is liquid-smooth and gentle, in stark contrast to Susumu's breathing being so fast-paced and raggedly harsh. The red pupils in his eyes is flare brighter, dilating wildly, as he leans down closer and closer and–

Bites.

Down.

Ito watches numbly, motionlessly as Susumu _–"Hello. You're the second-to-last of our testing group today, I think. I'm Mochizuki Susumu"–_ bends over the trembling pile of utterly terrified, bleeding young child underneath him and reaches out a gentle hand to cup the other boy's face. Susumu's scraped, bloody knuckles match perfectly well with the mottled cuts and bruises he had engraved into the other child, and he slowly lowers himself to the other boy, almost as if to whisper a secret into his ear–

But he doesn't.

His lips part.

His mouth opens.

He takes a bite.

_He bites into the other boy's cheek; soft at first, but then harder and harsher and then there is blood and the little boy screams but Susumu just bites down even harder in response to the renewing struggles. Susumu bites down hard, before immediately jerking up again when the other boy somehow finds enough strength born from desperation and elbows him in the stomach, and blood flies everywhere –Susumu's head snaps back, but his teeth are still tightly clamped down on a gory, messy glob of crimson–_

Her stomach churns, and Ito swallows. Hard. The sandpaper texture of her throat is a sharp contrast to the wetness of her mouth, the salivating–

Ito's eyes abruptly widen in sudden, horrified realization.

No.

Oh no.

No, no, no, no, _no._ What the hell?!

The buzz in her mind fades, and she is no longer frozen. It happens so swiftly that Ito's senses kick into overdrive almost immediately, and she very nearly crumples to the ground from the flood of overwhelming input from the world around her, input that finally now registers in her mind. Screams and cries and low, animalistic grunts. The scent of blood. _Blood._ It doesn't nauseate or disgust her like it should, like she knows it should; even though it sends shivers down her spine, it is shivers of the good kind, her mouth is watering, and _Ito is terrified._

She smells it.

Tangy, sweet. The poignant aroma wafting in the air is lightly tempered out by a familiar flavor that Ito remembers from each and every one of her meals –the scent of what she can only now pin down as _fear,_ watching Susumu tear into the wildly writhing boy below him as if a crazed animal completely losing his mind, mad and wild.

Pure, unadulterated fear (so _sweet_ ).

Trembling, quaking desperation (a dash of _exquisite spice_ ).

Hopelessness, desolation, a desire to be saved from living hell.

(Delicious, delicious, _delicious._ )

Ito is terrified. No, 'horrified' is probably the better word for it.

_Oh my god, what is wrong with me?_

… In the moment that Susumu had first bitten into the writhing child beneath his feet, something had jumped simultaneously in Ito's chest –a jarring sensation that Ito can only now identify for herself in the aftermath, as time begins moving again, and the implications… the implications of such a reaction are chilling to the bone.

_Want._

_(I want to eat, too.)_

Ito can only watch. She can only listen to the open-mouthed chewing noises coming from the bloody, grotesque spectacle in front of her. She hears the screams of pain in absolute silence with her pale lips pressed tightly together, and then, suddenly, the rhythm changes. There is a sickening, skin-crawling sound of something _splitting apart,_ and finally _silence._ No more struggle from the little boy's body.

Susumu's hands.

Susumu's hands are bloody.

Susumu's hands are gripping tightly onto two bloody, cracked, bowl-like pieces of… of _something._ The scarlet-haired boy lifts one piece to his lips and begins slurping away at the slimy mixture of flesh and fluid pooled inside, gnawing and licking and–

Ito glances down.

The little boy is finally silent and docile. The littly boy isn't moving anymore. The little boy is missing the top half of his head.

_… Oh._

"Mochizuki Susumu: pass."

Ito's body stiffens as the scary giant walks forward, but the man doesn't so much as even glance in her direction. His eyes are fixated on the bloody boy _eating_ the other boy he had just _beaten to death with his bare hands_ and… the man is smiling. _Smiling._ It's the most broad, honest smile that Ito has seen on his face so far. "Looks like we'll be able to make a proper ghoul out of you after all."

_Ghoul?_

No, no, never mind that.

Bloody red meat, beating children to death, mouthwatering flesh–

 _Cannibals, they are all freaking_ cannibals _what in the world–_

"Next," the muscular man turns to the rest of the children again and sets his eyes on her. Ito stills. Stiffens. "You're up, little shrimp."

"… No."

A faint whisper falling from her lips.

(She doesn't want to do this. She doesn't want to. _She doesn't want to she doesn't want to she's not like them she isn't a–_ )

"'No?'"

The man's voice turns soft, dangerously so. It is her only warning.

Like rhododendrons. There is a sudden, blinding burst of pain drilling into her stomach, blooming like late summer rhododendrons. Ito isn't aware of the weightlessness that comes with bodily flying through the air until her back crashes against one of the metal crates stacked to the sides, and _PAIN._ It hurts, everything _hurts so much._ A small, keening cry instinctively falls from her lips. Even though it hurts so badly, it… it doesn't feel like anything is _broken,_ but for all that she doesn't _think_ there's anything broken, she can _feel_ the tendrils of white-hot lightning lancing up and down her spine and she can't–

"Get up. _Get up._ Tell me, shrimp, how do you expect to live if you won't even kill? What are you going to eat?" the man lets out a derisive snort. "Oh, stop playing dead already. Ghouls are made to fight and kill. A little tap like that shouldn't be anything too damaging. _Get up, before I decide that you're useless and kill you right now."_

Ito's eyes are burning.

Oh gods.

_Oh gods._

(What madness is this?)

There is glass on the ground. Broken glass. Ito looks down into one of the reflective shards and very narrowly avoids screaming when she sees the black-and-red eyes of a man-eating monster staring back at her.

 _This isn't right this isn't right this isn't_ right. _She doesn't want to she's not like them she isn't a_ man-eating monster.

"Get up, walk to the center, and kill your food," the man orders. The giant _monster in human skin._ "If you don't, you fail the test and I'll kill you. Is that clear?"

…

"I said, IS THAT CLEAR?"

Ito bites back her tears.

_"… Yes."_

.

.

Kill.

Kill, kill, _kill._

… What kind of sick joke is this? _Killing?_ How can they –how can they _ask_ this of her? How can Papa send her to a place like this in good conscience? How can he… how can he send her to people who ask children to kill other children for food without so much as batting an eye?

(Not a monster. Not a monster. _Not a monster._ )

The little boy standing in front of her is wide-eyed, trembling. He looks like the last one. Brothers, maybe? Twins? She doesn't know. Ito doesn't know. All she knows is that, like her, he has also watched Susumu literally _eat_ another child alive. He saw with his own eyes how Susumu had cracked open another boy's skull with his bare hands. He is scared, scared, _scared._

So is she.

Ito doesn't want to kill.

Not a monster, _not a monster._

"… Well? What are you just standing there for? Hurry up and _eat_ it already."

She already ate breakfast before she came. Ito is not hungry. She firmly tells herself that _she is not hungry,_ but her mouth is watering anyways just by _looking_ at that quivering little boy standing there, and both stokes her growing appetite and simultaneously _terrifies her._

Ito feels nauseous and weak-kneed, her hands are light and powerless and she doesn't think she can even curl them into a fist if she tried. She wants to throw up, but she can't.

She _can't._

It is the boy who makes the first move.

Perhaps it is rampant fear, sheer desperation, the panicked thought of 'I don't want to die I don't want to die _I don't want to die,'_ that drives the boy into action first while Ito is still just standing there, uncertain and frozen. This boy, for all his superficially-shared similarities with the boy before him, is cleverer than the last. Violet eyes blazing with determination and resolve as he _moves,_ he reaches down and grabs a handful of sand grains from the ground while he charges and _throws._ Ito's eyes close instinctively as she raises a hand to block in front of her face, and although she is mostly successful, there is still a bit of something dry and scratchy that gets into her eyes–

A punch.

The boy punches her in the stomach. He is smart enough to have enough sense to try and punch the exact same spot where the crazy monster-giant had kicked her earlier, but… but to Ito's surprise, all she feels on her abdomen is a light tap. A little light tap. It doesn't hurt.

It doesn't hurt at all.

… Even though it doesn't hurt, it's still an automatic reaction to lash out in retaliation and try to push away whatever is trying to hit you. Ito's eyes widen in shock when she finds that the boy _yelps,_ skidding back several steps when she shoves him the same way she shoves her sister in a sandbox.

 _Fear._ The light of fear enters the boy's eyes, stronger this time –but he doesn't give up, _doesn't give up,_ and Ito doesn't want to kill. When the boy charges and punches again and again, Ito steps back or pushes him away each time. For all that her arms still feel boneless and limp, it's somehow enough to keep the panicked boy at bay.

But Ito is running out of ideas. She doesn't know what to do, doesn't know what to do, _doesn't know what to do._ The young boy grows increasingly crazed and frustrated and the glint of intelligence in his eyes fades, growing into something steadily more primal, fearful and outright maniacal–

"Just die already, you _monster!"_

Monster.

Not a monster, not a monster.

Ito stiffens, stumbles, and the boy capitalizes on the opportunity to _shove_ her, and this time, Ito stumbles. She stumbles and falls down into the dirt without any resistance, but when she looks up again, she sees it. Glass shards. There are glass shards in the boy's hands, cutting into the boy's palms and bleeding so much tasty _red,_ but he doesn't seem to notice the pain at all as he raises his arms over his head.

_Why, why are you doing this? I… I'm not a monster._

"You're _pathetic."_

Ito blinks. The boy is gone, replaced by the towering visage of the dark-haired monster-man standing over her, all twisted scowls and hulking muscles. His eyes are black-and-red, _glowing._

_… This isn't good._

"Mochizuki Ito: fail," the man proclaims.

.

.

Instinct.

Pure, unadulterated instinct.

It's the only thing that saves her; the mind-shattering scream of her instincts screeching for her to _RUN,_ and so Ito obeys. Ito barely throws herself out of the way in time before the man's fist comes down on the ground where she had lain a bare moment before. There is a literal _crater_ complete with spiderweb cracks that appears in the hard earth, but Ito isn't paying attention to that anymore.

Hypersensitive.

All the gears in her mind kick into overdrive. Ito is suddenly acutely aware of the sound of every small breath, every small movement, every small shuffle of footsteps in her surroundings. She is very much aware of the way the man's head slowly turns towards her, the way his black-and-red eyes narrow at her trembling form on the ground, the way his lips peel back and curl into a sneer. Ito is very, _very_ aware of the way he raises his fists again and steps towards her threateningly.

Everything has a fight-or-flight instinct when faced with a superior predator on the food chain. Problem is, even though that instinct is working just fine for Ito, the little girl has nowhere to run.

She tries to run, but the man grabs her leg. Searing, blinding pain accompanies the loud snapping sound that echoes throughout the warehouse, and Ito crumples to the ground.

No, she needs to keep running. Even if there is nowhere for her to run, she needs to keep on running, _keep on running or otherwise she is going to die–_

She is a puppet, a doll, a sandbag.

(Rhododendrons wilt in the apex of high summer, die in spring, seeds are burned into the ashen ground of cold winter. Cold. She feels cold. Everything is ice-cold from head to toe now.)

 _It hurts hurts hurts_ HURTS–

She is going to die.

She is going to die, Ito realizes, and it's a sinking moment of perfect crystal clarity. Blood. So much blood on the ground, so much red. It's not tasty. It's not tasty at all. So this is her own blood.

Ito is going to die.

She is going to die. She is only a tiny little child, and he is a grown man. He wants to kill her. She is going to die.

_… Just like this?_

There's still so much that she wants to _do._ She wants to go to school, to make friends, to write homework. She wants to draw pictures and listen to music and read books. There's so much that she hasn't done yet in these scant five years, there's so much that she knows the world has to offer.

_She doesn't want to die._

But the man wants to kill her.

_She doesn't want to die._

But he is going to kill her.

_She doesn't want to die._

But Ito is going to die; she is going to die, and there is absolutely nothing she can do.

(Flowers unveiling their blossoms in midsummer, rotting sweetness and shriveling petals in the heat-haze that does not exist, has never existed.)

… But, but she doesn't want to die.

Ito doesn't want to die. She is only five years old.

She wants to live.

She wants to live to live _to live, she just wants to–_

It burns, burns, _burns._ The fear of death, the desire to live, her own pitiful cowardice. Burning. _Burning._ Fire burning in the core of her body, flames fanning out to every single corner, filling her to the brim, before rapidly shrinking into a red-hot ball that explodes out of her back in a shower of blood. Devil-flower rhododendrons twisting and coiling and madly blooming out of season, flowers blossoming in late summer in a way that is completely wrong, wrong, _wrong._

The monster-man stumbles back as the flowers leap upwards in radiant bloom, cursing –but only for a moment– and then he is leaping forward again, tearing down the entire world.

Ito _screams._

.

.

_"How are you feeling?"_

A brave boy stands up and throws sand in her eyes. A monster growls and leaps out to kill her. A bloody rhododendron unfurls its petals, a delicate flower that is so very easily choked to death by many others in the garden.

_"Ito? Ito! Talk to me, sweetheart–"_

_"… It's useless, Yasu, your girl looks like she is still in shock right now. Man, what did you do differently with raising her? Sena was perfectly fine in the test. Osamu told me that this one didn't even try to kill her own food."_

A hand, there is a hand reaching out to her. No, not reaching out to her. Calloused fingers tilt her chin upwards, but Ito does not see the sun that must be shining above. How strange, for a summer season. Yellow daisies and pink dahlias sway to an invisible beat in the music of the wind. She cannot hear the melody anymore, if it had even ever existed in the first place.

The brave little boy appears before her again, smiling. He is missing the top half of his head, and there is something warm and sweet in her mouth.

No, no, no, no, NO!

Not a monster. _Not a monster._

_"The hell? Refusing to eat? Yasu, what in the world is wrong with your girl?"_

_"Shut up."_

Small little hands reach out to her. Children's hands. No, too large for children's hands. Ito blinks, and the brave little boy dissolves into a puddle of blood in front of her lips. She is so, so _thirsty._

(No, no, _no._ Not a monster.)

_"Sweetheart, you need to eat. You can't starve yourself like this. You're too young to be trying to–"_

Young, he was so young when Susumu just cracked open his head like a ripe watermelon and drank the sweet fluids inside and crunched on the fleshy meat. A feast. _Feast._

Ito is hungry.

She is hungry, but she does not want to eat.

_"If she doesn't want to eat, don't try coaxing her to. She'll definitely eat when she's hungry, and that'll be soon enough if she doesn't let her kagune disperse anytime soon… I'm honestly impressed, Yasu. You've got a whole mess of problems all rolled up into one here –five years is the youngest age I've ever heard for activating one's kagune, and it's also the earliest I've heard any ghoul tries to stop eating."_

_"Aniki, she can't keep going on like this! She's going to kill herself! Her body isn't ready for the stress of continuously maintaining her kagune yet!"_

_"And what will you have me do? Her mind still thinks she's in danger, so there's no way she'll be letting her kagune disperse until she feels like she's safe again, and we don't have any RC suppression gas like the Doves do. Be glad your kid's a rinkaku –she'll heal fast enough once she eats and gets over this. If she gets over this, that is."_

_"Aniki!"_

Plip, plop, plip, plop.

Thirsty, thirsty. No, don't drink. Remember? Not a monster. Don't be a monster.

Ito blinks, and the puddle of red is gone. She sees rhododendrons again.

Hey, hey, wanna know a secret? I'll tell you a secret, says the brave little boy hiding behind the flowering rhododendrons. Come closer, and I'll tell you a secret. Don't you want to see what secrets are inside my mind?

His hands reach up to his own head and his fingers _dig in_ and _pull._

_"Not gonna lie to you here, Yasu. She's only passing the family test by the skin of her teeth –if Osamu hadn't been impressed that she managed to activate her kagune under duress, he would've killed her on the spot. But… best be prepared for the worst, Yasu. Mutated kagunes are rare, but hers is a backwards mutation. I mean, look at these limp little things! She'll be lucky if she ever manages to do anything more than trip people up in a fight. Rinkakus are brittle enough already, hers is just…"_

_"…"_

_"… Sorry I can't give you any better news, little bro. But you want to hear the truth, don't you?"_

_"Ito…"_

_"… Yasu… even if your girl recovers from her ordeal, I doubt she's going to survive very long the way she is. You know very well what kind of world we live in, don't you?"_

.

.

(… What's the secret?

Ah, the secret, says the little boy. So you _do_ want to know the secret, after all? Well, here it is. He pauses dramatically, the exaggerated way that only young children do to draw out suspense.

The secret is, he says. The secret is that you're _dead._ You're dead, I'm dead; we all are. Us and the entire world we live in. You're a dead man walking, Ito. It's only a matter of time before you realize that and become just like me.

Why?

The brave boy laughs.

Why are you dead? What a silly question. His eyes are bright and intelligent, no hint of fear anywhere in sight. You're dead because you don't want to kill. Because you're too scared to kill. Because you refuse to kill, because you refuse to _eat._

The boy leans in for a quiet whisper.

Your beautiful, bloody rhododendrons will strangle you to death one day, he breathes softly, and then he opens his mouth and kisses her. Wildly squirming maggots crawl out from the back of his throat to bury themselves into the pit of her belly, burrowing in deeper and deeper and deeper still until they are rooted so firmly and deeply that they will never come out again. You and your rhododendrons. Remember that.)

.

.

Time passes.

… It would be a blatant lie to say that nothing has changed in her life since _that day._ Because there is a definite shift, a crack between Ito and the rest of her family now, a thin line that might as well be a gaping canyon for all the distance it puts between them. Sometimes, Ito desperately wishes that she doesn't remember _anything,_ that she has no inhibitions whatsoever about killing and eating like her sister Sena, because she is smart enough to know that that is the root of the problem. It's her reluctance to kill people for food, for her own survival, that has resulted in this–

And then her sense of _responsibility_ and _morality_ and _guilt_ kicks in, and Ito feels sickened that she can even _think_ this, that she even _wants_ to be okay with something as horrible as eating humans.

Ghoul.

Ito is a ghoul, she is a little girl born to a family of _ghouls,_ cannibalistic creatures that can only live by eating humans. The Mochizuki family is a family of ghouls scattered throughout Tokyo city that gathers once every so often to administer a test, to teach its children how to fight, how to _survive._

… Rationally speaking, there is nothing wrong with that. There is nothing wrong with a large family and its extended relatives taking precautionary measures to ensure that their children will be able to fend for themselves and thrive. There is nothing wrong with trying to make your children strong, with culling the weak so they will not have to suffer the cruelty of the world.

(But if there is really nothing wrong with that, then why does it feel as if everything is twisted, sick, distorted? Is it only because Ito carries memories of a past life? A _human_ past life?

If that's the case, she _doesn't want to remember–_ )

No.

No, she can't think like this. She doesn't want to be a monster. _Ito does not want to be a monster._

… But is there any way to deny being a monster if you are a human born in the body of one? Is it the mind, thoughts and ideals and actions that determine whether or not a person is a monster –or is it the physical, needs and requirements and necessity of the body that determines this? And when things come down to it; really, is there any true difference between the two?

Is there a difference between a monster and a monster?

… Ito's body is undoubtedly that of a monster's. She just doesn't know if that means that she is a monster or a _monster._

(She isn't sure if she wants to know, either.)

A slight burn in her lower back, and Ito looks up into the mirror in her room, lips curling into a sad little smile at the undeniable proof of her body's inhumanity. Because even if she could rationalize the practice of eating raw meat before (meat, _meat; human flesh–_ ), there is nothing that can possibly explain something like _this._

Long, pale-red tendrils. Thin and ribbon-like, almost, with an almost flowery scale-like pattern scattered across like veins under pale, translucent flesh. There are two of them, one on each side –and they are solid, indisputable proof that she is _ghoul_ and not human.

Kagune.

Papa had explained to her that she had failed the test that day. But since she had managed to bring out her kagune instead, the proctor of the test had decided to give her another chance rather than kill her directly. It wasn't often that a ghoul child managed to manifest their kagune so young, after all, and so he had allowed her to survive on the off chance that there might be something redeeming about her.

(Why, Papa? Why did you send me to take a test with the very real possibility of resulting in my death? _Why?_ )

For all that the kagune is supposed to be a ghoul's predatory limbs for hunting and for battle, the sheer flimsiness and floppiness of the two fleshy ribbons extending from her back look much more aesthetically decorative than realistically practical for any purpose whatsoever. Her kagune really isn't much to look at. Ito's dainty lace-like ribbons are a far cry from the strong red-white wings that had unfurled from her father's back that day in the basement of their home as he had tried explaining the concept of ghouls and kagune and survival to her.

 _Rinkaku._ Papa had called her a _rinkaku._ Scale-red.

(Red, why red? Why is it always _red?_ Isn't there enough red already?)

_"You've always been a sharp girl, Ito. Please… for your own sake, you have to…"_

To kill, right?

… Like the act of taking a life is such a simple thing.

Ito doesn't want to kill. She doesn't want to eat humans.

She doesn't want to be a monster.

.

.

_What is hell?_

Scorching flames that burn incessantly without pause or respite, solely focused on wreaking destruction in the throes of chaos and mayhem. Havoc.

_Fire._

There is a fire burning inside her body. It burns it burns _it burns someone please help put out the fire I don't want to burn don't let me burn to death._ Something inside her stomach, crawling, tearing her apart.

(Rotting maggots and a brave little boy missing the top half of his head. The rhododendrons are in bloom.)

Ito curls in on herself, writhing, barely aware of her own harsh panting, focused as she is on gripping the blankets underneath her as tightly as she can and just _breathing._ Breathe, she has to remember how to breathe. Forget, forget, _forget._ Forget about the fire. Forget about the maggots, the boy, the rhododendrons. Forget about this pain, this pain of her body revolting against her, starving and ravenous and–

No.

No, she's not hungry. She's _not._

Ito has already gone an entire month without eating. She can do this. _She can do this._ Ito is not a monster. _Ito is not a man-eating monster._

… She doesn't want to eat the dismembered corpse of a murdered person, a victim murdered solely so that he would become _food_ in the pit of her stomach. Even if she has never been a perfectly morally upright woman before in the life she remembers once having lived, she hasn't fallen so far into depravity and madness that she would feast upon the flesh of other humans.

Ah, but she's not exactly human anymore, is she? _Ghoul._ Ito is a ghoul.

She has to remember that. Not human, not human, not human. Ghouls must survive by eating human flesh; there is no other alternative, no substitute. Is she so wrong for eating food to live?

Not human.

Not monster.

Which one is she, exactly?

… No, that way lies madness. _Madness._ Remember, she has to remember. _Humans are not food._ Oh gods, if she starts letting herself think of living, breathing _people_ as _food,_ like they are _livestock_ or something–

But she's so _hungry._

This tearing emptiness pulsating inside her feels like it can rear its ugly, macabre head and swallow whole the entire world without hesitation –it's an empty, gnawing void that twists her insides into knots and uses bladed, serrated knives to wreak havoc on her organs. Pain, mind-splitting pain; so much pain that it makes the monster-giant seem like a fluffy cat in comparison. It's heavy, hard to breathe, her mouth is so _dry._

Hunger. What is hunger?

Her stomach is empty, her body is in pain from cannibalizing itself, _she wants to eat–_

No she doesn't. She doesn't. She doesn't want to eat she doesn't want to eat she–

She is so, so _HUNGRY._

(Let me swallow whole the entire world.)

Delirium. Is this what they call delirium? But Ito is awake and aware and perfectly coherent, for all the scorching heat burning up her insides and the hellish fire blazing an unholy inferno over those madly-blooming blood-red rhododendrons. Blood. _Blood._ Thirsty. Ito feels so very weak and light-headed and everything is spinning and _dark_ and _blurry_ and _meat she wants meat she wants to eat–_

No, no, _no._

(Yes, yes, _yes._ )

A hoarse cry tears its way out of her throat, and the sheets crumpled tightly in her heads _tear_ and _rip._

Wet. Her face is wet. Ito touches trembling fingers to her chin, trailing up the side of her face, and–

Not her eyes. She isn't crying.

Ito's mouth is open.

_Oh my god._

She can't see. _Now_ the waterworks come, blurry tears burning hot and bright in the corners of her shakily dilating black-and-red eyes, but she is too busy furiously wiping away at the saliva smeared over her face like a wild animal. Hungry hungry _hungry._ Ito is so very hungry that it feels like she is going to _die._

No, this is worse than death. This is _suffering_ and _torture,_ plain and simple –this is _hell on earth,_ this pain that she is experiencing. This pain of her stomach turning on her insides and directly trying to eat and rip its way out of her skin and there is nothing she can do and she just–

She just…

She can't take this anymore. _She can't take this anymore._

But she doesn't want to be a monster, Ito is not a monster.

… She _isn't._

…

(Somewhere through the haze of sheer pain, she sees Mama. Mama walks to the edge of the bed and sets down a plate of something _heavenly_ in front of her and Ito just–)

…

…

…

_"The hunger of a ghoul is a most terrible thing, indeed. I take it that you've finally learned your lesson and won't be doing this to yourself anymore, Ito?"_

.

.

Once upon a time, when Ito remembers still being human-human instead of monster-human, she had enjoyed shopping. Not necessarily the act of purchasing new goods itself, because she had always been on tight funds in those distant days, but she had honestly liked the feeling of walking through crowds and skimming through the colorful items lining store windows. There was something about the hum of voices in the air that felt comforting to her, to a certain degree.

Not so anymore.

Ito's head is buried in her arms as she sits on the wooden bench, waiting. The hum of voices isn't just a hum anymore –it's a deafening roar to her overly sensitive ears, a sudden rush of input that her mind struggles to ignore, because they are all loud threads of inane conversation that she _doesn't want to hear._ But what really gets to her isn't the noise–

It's the smell.

It's the sweet, alluring scent wafting throughout the air.

Food. _Meat._

… And it scares her, because sitting at the edge of a crowd like this and looking outwards –she doesn't see people anymore, doesn't see separate individuals walking to and fro; she sees _meat._

Quite frankly, it's terrifying.

These are people, Ito tries to remind herself. People just like me, with their own thoughts and personalities and families who love them. _Human_ does not mean _food._ These are individuals who are each unique in their own way, and all the more special for it. It's dangerous to just lump them all into a single faceless category, entity –because that makes it easier to make them seem like something distant and inhuman instead of the very real human beings that they are.

… Ito doesn't eat often anymore. Once a month, and only the barest scraps of human flesh.

Lately, her parents seem like they're about to start giving up on her, and while this makes a corner of her heart twist in pain, another part is sadly resigned, because it's not like she can't look at things from their perspective, having such a useless, pitiful daughter who refuses to eat and kill like Ito. It's not their fault for having a strange, unnatural little ghoul child like her –but neither can Ito help who she is, and she is not a ghoul.

(Not a monster, not entirely, at least, even if she has the body of one. In body, but not in mind.)

"Ito?"

"… Mama."

The little girl lifts her head to see the expressionless face of her mother staring back at her. It's been so long since she had last seen the woman smile at her.

"… We're done for today," Mama says shortly. "Let's find your sister and head back home now, shall we?"

There is no hand that is extended to her, like what the woman might have done a long time ago when Ito had still been _daughter_ instead of _spineless girl,_ but Ito unfurls her legs from underneath herself anyways and stands to follow. Sometimes, she even finds herself wondering–

_If I walk out of the house one day and don't return, would Papa and Mama ever search for me?_

(… No, the answer to that is obvious; for all the disappointment that her parents have in her, she is still a child of their own flesh and blood. What parent doesn't care for their child, filled with faults as children are wont to be?)

Preoccupied with her thoughts as she is, it's a bit of a surprise to her when her mother's footsteps suddenly stop. Ito has been out with her mother and sister on multiple trips like these –the woman calls it "learning to become comfortable in crowded human settings," which would be a more diplomatic form of phrasing, "learning to remain controlled and composed in face of a _feast."_

(Ito rarely sees her father nowadays anymore, for all that her sister had once informed her that it used to be their father who took her out on such trips.

… It's because he doesn't want to look at such a failure of a daughter. Kagune? What use is awakening a mutated kagune that is so weak and flimsy and useless, even if she does so at a young age? What will Ito ever amount to if she refuses to kill, refuses to eat?)

"Ito, _run._ There's no more time."

She doesn't understand, not at first. Ito is more surprised than anything else, really.

There is a tone of shocked-blankness and something borderline-trepidation that melds into a strange amalgamation of… of something akin to firm _resolve_ in her mother's voice, and the woman doesn't so much as spare a single glance backwards at Ito before striding forwards again, faster this time, and for a moment, Ito is rooted to the ground by the abruptness of it all, because this _doesn't make sense._

And then it does.

… It does make sense, her mother's funny reaction. It makes _so much sense._

Unlike Ito, Sena has never had any inhibitions about eating human flesh, and the older girl fully embraces the primal part of her nature that demands blood and death. While Ito has been doing her best to survive on as little food as possible, the other girl is the exact opposite. But it's not like Ito can hold anything against her sister for this: humans are _tasty._ Everything about a ghoul's natural biology sends positive stimuli to the brain when it comes to something like eating human flesh; for her sister who has never known anything else, who has never interacted with humans and come to know them as something other than _food–_

No, Sena's attitude towards other people –towards _humans–_ isn't very surprising to Ito. But Sena's behavior means that she will eat when she is hungry, and she has never experienced hunger, not like Ito has, not like Ito constantly does. This is the first of her outings in which Sena has not eaten beforehand. It's supposed to be a test of control, but–

_Is it possible to control a monster?_

Blood. Blood on the streets.

Someone is screaming.

Ito sees her mother rushing forward, just as other people are running away –and being such a small girl with such a slender frame, Ito is easily pushed and jostled by the crowd, but she remains motionless, _staring._ Because.

Sena just killed someone.

Sena. Her sister. Her sister who slept in the same room with her and used to read books aloud to her and patted her on the head she–

_She killed someone. She just killed a man in broad daylight out on the streets like this. She killed him, and she's eating him and oh my god it–_

Black-and-red eyes. The eyes of a monster, glowing, gleaming. Red veins seep out in the area around her eyes, and for all the erratic pulsing, Ito knows her sister well enough to identify that emotion as _pleasure,_ as _satisfaction._

_… Aneki?_

"Don't look."

Ito gives a small start of surprise when a young man suddenly steps in front of her. He isn't running away like the others. He's not tripping over himself, screaming in terror, as he flees from a man-eating monster. Instead, it… it wouldn't be far off the mark to say that he is actually _composed,_ for all that his eyes are hard and flinty as he stares down the sight of her sister sating her hunger.

"Mister…?"

"Run along, a little girl like you shouldn't get caught up in this." The man briefly glances down at her, and there is something rough in his harsh countenance that turns soft for a brief moment, as he gives her a gentle push. "You're too young to be seeing what's about to happen next here."

A heavy sense of foreboding crawls over her spine at the man's words, because.

Because Ito sniffs the air and he tastes like _warm chestnuts and cozy fires and reliability_ at his core while his outer edges taste _sharp and poignant and thrilling danger,_ and it's confusing. It's a confusing scent, to be sure, but what's undeniable about it all is that he's _human,_ and yet this suit-clad young man in a white overcoat is so… so _calm_ and unruffled when directly across from him is a _ghoul._

… No, not completely unruffled, she hastily corrects her earlier thought. Not completely unruffled, because there is still an undercurrent of tension and wariness coiling under his frame. Why is that? Why is he–

"Time to get to work, Iba!"

It's a different voice.

A different voice, a new one coming from the other end of the shopping street. It's from another man who, albeit older, is dressed in the same white coat with a silver-white suitcase dangling from his hand–

No.

No, no.

Not a suitcase.

… It's… _hard,_ for Ito to hold back her gasp of horror. _That thing the other man is holding, it's steel and metal and kagune but not-kagune, and it's–_

Do you know what it feels like?

Do you know what it feels like when a man stands in front of you and holds a sword in his hands? Do you know what it feels like when the sword is sharpened from human bone, and upon the pommel rests a distinctive human head? Do you know that skin-crawling, horrifying sensation?

_Quinque. That's… that's what Papa said 'Quinques' are, didn't he? That man… he… they…_

Doves.

Such an innocent, innocuous, harmless-sounding moniker.

Doves fight ghouls.

Doves hunt ghouls.

_Doves kill ghouls._

… Ito thinks she is going to be sick. Not from anything like disgust for herself at eating humans like she has grown familiar with, but from _fear._ It's not exactly a novel experience, but definitely one novel in its own way, and she doesn't exactly have time to be indulging in thoughts like this right now, because _holy hell she is standing right next to a Dove._

_Run run RUN!_

Except. Except she can't. She _can't._ Her body is much too stiff with terror, paralyzed feet rooted to the ground, and no matter how much she mentally screams at herself in growing panic, _she can't move._

_Mama._

_Mama, Mama, Mama get me out of here I'm sorry please help me don't let the Doves kill me–_

(Mama. Mama is a grown ghoul, she knows how to deal with situations like these. She can save me. Mama–)

A slender woman kneeling down, gathering a young girl into her arms. A young girl whose face is smeared with streaks of blood. Mama and Sena. When the woman looks up again, her eyes are black-and-red, and something bursts from her back –four long, serrated limbs, whip-like and cordlike in fluidity. Flexible limbs that twist into the air and roughly knock away the Dove charging them down. She spins gracefully, bladed tendrils curling around her body, and–

_Mama, please, I–_

She looks at her.

Holding Sena in her arms, her mother _looks_ directly at Ito, ash-gray eyes meeting ash-gray eyes, and she…

… she…

…

… turns… away.

She turns away.

_The ghoul woman turns away, leaping into the air, propelling herself by using those extra limbs sprouting from her back, and–_

"MAMA!"

Ito finally finds her voice. She finds her voice again, _screams_ her throat out –fear, desperation, disbelief, _hurt_ – and something inside her trembles violently and _breaks_ into a thousand little pieces in the exact moment that her mother looks away from her and leaves, when she holds her sister in her arms and runs away, and Ito thinks that this, this might be her heart.

Mama. _Mama._ Her mother, her–

_How can you do this to me how can you leave me behind Mama come back Mama Mama MAMA–_

(Why are you so surprised? Doves, Doves, _Doves,_ Mama can't fight two of them off by herself, she can't escape with two daughters dragging her down she can only escape with one; why would she choose to save _you,_ such a weak, useless thing that refuses to kill for itself and would probably die sooner or later anyways, when she can save Sena, Sena who is so much better?)

She's crying.

Ito is crying.

Crying.

Her eyes are red.

Her eyes are… black-and-red.

(So caught up in shock and disbelief, the little girl realizes her mistake a moment too late. A single moment, which changes everything.)

The Dove that had tried to push Ito out of the way so gently earlier is looking down at her, eyes wide –before they narrow and harden.

In the moment that he opens the suitcase in his hands, the freezing spell over her body disappears.

Ito turns and _runs._

… Mama doesn't want her because she doesn't want to kill. That doesn't mean that Ito wants to _die._

.

.

_"Spread out so we can flush it out of its hiding spot and catch it! The other two got away already; don't let this one escape, too!"_

Tears. Tears on her face. Ito wipes her face and licks her finger, but her tears aren't salty the way tears are supposed to be. They taste disgustingly rancid and acrid and burn her tongue. Revolting. Revolting, like the little monster she is.

_"This one's young, it can't have gotten too far!"_

Why? Why are they doing this? Doves hunt ghouls, yes, but –but she hasn't done anything; for heaven's sake, Ito doesn't even want to kill! She doesn't! She hasn't killed anyone! She's not a _monster,_ why are they insisting on her being one?

(Fire burning in her stomach ravenous hunger bloody rhododendrons hungry hungry _hungry–_ )

She can't control it. A shaky, heaving sob escapes her lips, and Ito immediately clasps both hands over her mouth in horror.

No. Oh no. No no no no _no–_

_"Did you hear that?"_

_"This way!"_

She doesn't want to die. _She doesn't want to die._ She never did anything, never hurt anyone. Why are they still chasing her?

There is something slimy on the ground of the dark alley that Ito almost trips head over heels in when she slips on it, and even though there is a definite _crack_ coming from her ankle as she stumbles, _hard,_ the pain disappears in a scant few moments as she forcibly pushes herself upright and forwards again, as she runs runs _runs_ for a new hiding spot, before they find her. Before she is found by Doves and they– they–

_Quinque. Those quinques in their hands._

Ito knows that she is going to have nightmares about that. Scratch that, _everything_ in this world is a total nightmare.

Nightmarish, hellish, diabolical.

(If there is a deity overlooking this world, surely it must be a cruel, malicious one with a malevolent sense of humor at seeing people's suffering.)

_"It's heading for the gutters!"_

_"The gutters or the back-end of the alleys?"_

Rats. There are _rats,_ so many rats gathered in the shadowy, trash-filled alcove into which Ito dives, rats that squeak and scatter indignantly as she dives in. Some of them claw and bite at her, but she can't find herself caring about any of these little details–

A tunnel?

There is a tunnel?

_"Damn, where did it go?"_

_"It's probably still around here somewhere…"_

Foul. It smells absolutely _foul_ in here. Rot and decay and filth; Ito feels the near-irrepressible urge to sneeze, but she remembers her earlier mistake. She can't. It will give her position away again, it will bring the Doves down on her–

Why?

Why do they hunt her so?

Ito is literally _starving_ herself. She is thin and underfed and it's precisely because she _refuses_ to eat humans, yet it is humans, _humans_ who are chasing her, hunting her like a rabid animal to be put down, when she has done nothing wrong, never hurt anyone. Why can't they _go away?_ Can't they understand that she… she…

…

… she is… hungry. _Hungry._

…

Ito doesn't know where she is anymore. It's dark, rancid-smelling, rats are swarming all over her and biting into her like they want to eat her alive, and there is a boy missing the top half of his head sitting down next to her. He's smiling. Maggots are crawling out from her broken stomach. She doesn't want to be here, Ito doesn't want to be here, she wants _out,_ but she's too scared to go out. There are Doves outside. Ito doesn't want to be killed by Doves. Why do the Doves want to kill her?

… Ah, right.

It's because Ito is hungry.

But why do they want to kill her for being hungry? Don't Doves get hungry, too? Don't Doves kill animals to eat, as well? Pigs and cows and chicken and fish and _so many animals._ Doves want to kill her. Doves want to kill her, but they don't even want to _eat_ her afterwards. That's so stupid. Wasteful, too. Ito likes to think that she would be tasty.

… Actually, probably not. Ito starves herself, so she's all skin and bones without very much meat. That's not tasty at all. She's hungry. Why is she starving herself? Is she stupid, too?

Wait, no, bad Ito. Killing is bad. Killing humans is bad. No eating.

But she's so _huNgRY._

Killing humans. Why is killing humans wrong? Humans want to kill Ito. Why can't Ito kill humans? Ito is a child, Ito is a little girl, Ito is a _ghoul._ Ito wants… Ito wants…

Ito doesn't want to eat humans.

Ito wants to live.

But Ito can't have both of them. Why can't Ito have both? Is she being too greedy? Greedy? Is that why Papa gives her the cold shoulder and aneki laughs at her when she thinks Ito isn't looking? Is that why Mama doesn't want little Ito anymore?

No… no, no, no. Not that, not because of that. No one wants her because she's useless. Because she's weak. Why is she weak?

Because she doesn't want to become strong.

… Then, why doesn't she want to be strong? If she is strong, then she wouldn't have to run and hide so pitifully with the rats like this from Doves, right?

To be strong. To be strong… means that she needs to eat.

Ito doesn't want to eat. But neither does she want to die. She needs to be strong in order not to die. In order to become strong, she needs to eat. She is so very hungry hungry _hungry–_

Hunger. Ghoulish hunger.

… It's not that bad yet. It's not that bad yet, she knows, but it will get worse. Ito can control her hunger better than her sister, but she can't control it completely. No ghoul can control their hunger completely. She will need to eat eventually, if she doesn't want to die.

_The hunger of a ghoul is a most terrible thing, indeed._

… Is this what it comes down to, then? The instinct to preserve her own survival by any means necessary, versus her inhibitions against killing humans, carried over from a life that is already dead and over and done with and no longer exists? Ito… Ito…

…

Ito wants to live.

She wants to _live._

Even though she doesn't want to hurt anyone, doesn't want to kill… more than anything else, more than her fears of killing and eating other humans, Ito realizes now that she truly fears dying.

It is at this very moment, sitting alone in total darkness with the rats and her own hunger for company, that she has a sudden epiphany.

To be a ghoul, to be inhuman in a world of humans –means that you do not have the right to live.

You do not have the right to live, because you are a ghoul, and your life comes at the cost of human lives. Because your natural biology means that you can only survive by consuming the flesh of humans, humans will kill you. Humans will try to kill you by any means necessary, even if you're already trying your best to be good and to not eat anymore. It doesn't matter that you're _hungry_ and there's literally nothing else you can eat; for humans, everything in this world can be eaten but humans themselves. To nibble on humans at all is to ask for Doves to kill you.

You do not have the right to live.

Your life is one that should have never taken its first breath in this world.

In the eyes of humans, your life is forfeit.

… So, what happens if you want to live?

If you want to live, then you must eat and become strong and _fight for it,_ fight to live so that you aren't killed.

(Isn't that what ghouls naturally do? Fight and eat humans to survive?)

Ito is weak, is a coward, is a trembling little girl with a too-weak kagune who does not want to fight, but… what other option is there for her? What other option is there for anyone? What else can she do, if she wants to _live?_

The right to live is not something that is to be _given,_ not something to be taken for granted. It is a painful battle, this struggle for something as simple as survival, and there is nothing you can do. There is absolutely nothing else you can do but to fight in order to obtain the very right to exist, in each filthy, grime-cracked line of your tainted hands and bloody lips.

Here in the shadows of filth and waste and biting rats, everything is so very bitterly crystal clear. How could she have ever failed to understand this reason in all its beautiful simplicity before?

To live is to eat.

To eat is to kill.

_Therefore, to live is to kill._

(… Survival of the fittest at its finest, Ito thinks, and stands up, scattering filthy rats with their yellow teeth from her rapidly-healing shoulders. Survival of the fittest. How Darwinian.)

.

.

_"It's time to wake up, little dreamer."_

.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on ff.net 1/15/16
> 
> This story is a bit of an explorative exercise for me, and the goal here is to finish the entire thing in approximately 5 chapters, more or less. We'll see. Am really excited to be exploring the TG-verse in more detail –hopefully I will be able to do it justice. Somewhat, at least? xD The TG-verse is fascinating, and I've always wanted to try my hand at something like this. Though I haven't actually gotten around to starting a TG fanfic until now…
> 
> Ito's change in mentality over this chapter is the main focus, and it's also something that I tried to make into a gradual, reasonable process. Hopefully everything here still makes sense? Quick trivia: Ito's name is '糸,' which means 'string.'
> 
> There will be a fair few OCs appearing in this story, but more canon characters should start coming in beginning from the next chapter. Kinda excited here for that, really. :3 Although, as a reminder this story is pre-canon by several years.


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